


The Constant Laughs in Flowers

by atlasio



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasio/pseuds/atlasio
Summary: Maxwell comes to the uncomfortable realisation he has trapped his own niece(s) in the constant but gets by with a little help from a friend (see: Wilson).
Relationships: Abigail & Maxwell & Wendy (Don't Starve), Maxwell & Wilson (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Kudos: 27





	The Constant Laughs in Flowers

Maxwell could admit the ghostly sister fought valiantly. But even spectres have their limit; this one letting out a defeated sigh before returning to its floral refuge, nestled in a pocket of her counterpart's overalls. The pale, empty eyes of her sibling widened at this realisation, surrounded by slavering jaws that were no longer distracted by an angry ghost. It didn’t take long for the hastily constructed spear to break with a definite snap as hounds began to swarm; a snarling tide of black fur and sharp teeth that signalled a painful death for the young girl.

The shadow king did not always stand watch when realising a pawn was about to fall; but it was one activity that quieted the whispering voices and pacified _Them_ , something other than the infinite nothingness of the throne room. She was almost dead already though … what a pity. Hound waves were always over rather fast in his opinion, the creatures too hungry to add any sort of entertainment value to the way they killed.

Yet, as Maxwell leaned over the writhing mass of dogs and caught the resigned gaze of his latest victim, he couldn’t school his features into their usual triumphant sneer. Instead, he found himself frowning, an uncomfortable feeling prickling in the back of his head as if he was missing something crucial. What was there to know about this sullen child, other than the fact Maxwell had pulled her here from his seat on the throne, with the twisted promise of her sister’s resurrection?

The nagging sensation only grew stronger as Maxwell realised another world was calling him back to a gateway. Seems that Higgsbury, of all people, had found his door. Ironically fitting, for someone so familiar with the blueprints of that particular structure. He turned to give a parting remark, before realising the hounds had already completed their work. Nothing more than bleached bones remained, as the constant weaved its decidedly morbid magic.

Looks like he wouldn’t have time to greet the young girl at her gateway this cycle. It was a shame really, she always had such grim sounding remarks to offer him.

\---

The 'dethroning' experience had all happened so quickly. Too bright, too loud, too _alive_ … With a decisive thunk, Maxwell hit the ground, abruptly coming to the conclusion that everything hurt too much for this to be death. Discovering the hounds no longer recognised their creator had simply added insult to injury. It truly wasn’t fair having to run from beasts that were once his to command.

 _At least they’re still easily distracted_ , he had mused, while running for the nearest beehive.

But it was the result of a different predicament that now found Maxwell hunched over the renewed glow of a firepit; hands on unsteady knees, gasping for air. Somehow he had stumbled upon the camp of another survivor and the resulting fist-fight had been … less than ideal.  
Of all the people he dragged to the constant, it had to be Higgsbury he ended up stuck with, didn’t it? How delightful.

The man in question, now glaring daggers at him from across the flames, hadn’t been too pleased to discover Maxwell scouting out his camp from the surrounding berry bushes. Wilson had barrelled towards him in a flurry of flying fists and trumpeting anger that the former King was wholly unprepared for. Thank goodness for shadow hands and their light-snuffing habits; a not-unwelcome diffusion for the situation as both men had scrambled to add more fuel to the fire.

 _At least Higgsbury dropped the axe before his assault_ , Maxwell contemplated, while trying desperately to catch his breath. Of course, this would also be the moment his grumbling stomach decided to protest about how empty it was.

Ah yes. Food was another problem to add to the ever-increasing list of things he needed to worry about now. Goodness, this surviving thing got old fast, didn't it?

The meat skewer Higgsbury begrudgingly handed over was a surprisingly unexpected gesture and the resulting conversation was .... tolerable. Not that he learnt anything particularly useful, of course, but talking to another human being was a refreshing change of pace. Even if that person happened to be none other than Wilson Higgsbury.  
As the campfire burned lower and Maxwell bent over to feed another log to the flames, he noticed his reluctant company let out a yawn.

“Higgsbury, get some rest you fool.”

His abrasive instruction was met with a decisively firm head shake.

“How can I be sure you aren’t simply waiting to off me in my sleep?”

A fair conclusion to come to, all things considered. But even Maxwell was alarmed by the size of Wilson’s dark circles. Surely the man must be seeing _Their_ shadows in the corner of his vision by now?

“Don’t be daft. I merely realise how useless you will be as a campmate if you can hardly stand on your own two feet.” At Wilson's indignant expression, Maxwell found his tone softening.

“No need for you to be awake if I can tend to the fire each night, is there Higgsbury?”

“.... I didn’t realise you wanted to stay?” Wilson’s manner had changed abruptly, the quiet, almost mumbled reply cutting Maxwell short. It was uttered as if it was a question, the unspoken ‘with me’ hanging in the night air.

He found himself stumbling over his words a little in an effort to explain,  
“Well… I ... It’s easier from a survival perspective to camp together. Practicality. You of all people should know that… Besides…” Maxwell’s uncharacteristic rambling was interrupted by another jaw-splitting yawn from his companion.

Wilson flapped his hand sleepily, “I know, I know... Rest... You're right, I give in,” before rising from the log he was seated on and heading towards the tent. Fumbling with the canvas flaps, he turned around and seemed to consider what he was about to say next.

“...We’ll have to get you your own tent made up tomorrow?”

Another statement phrased like a question, so Maxwell graced it with a reply as Wilson shuffled inside.

“I would be… amenable to that.”

As he settled to watch the fire for the night, Maxwell was unwilling to think too deeply into what his conversation with Wilson had meant. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to return to his other recent interaction with another survivor. Namely, the young blonde girl and her ghostly sister.

Wait.  
Not just a sister, but a _twin_ sister.  
How could he have forgotten a fact that held such significance?

It was with a dawning sense of horror that Maxwell realised this wasn’t all he had forgotten about the siblings. The crackling embers of the fire seemed to be clearing the last of the fog from his mind as he placed his head in his hands and whispered quietly, to no one but himself:

‘Wendy _Carter_.’


End file.
